


Crime and Punishment

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Control, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. 123 counts of insulting a superior technician, 39 counts of dereliction of duty, 84 counts of general insubordination, and one count of mutiny require a lot of restitution. Rimmer/Lister, D/s and S/M, pre-established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaychel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/gifts).



> Red Dwarf characters belong to Grant Naylor Productions and, even after fourteen years of writing in this fandom, I am still not making any money off these works of fan fiction. All thanks to smaychel for her wonderful beta; I think I fixed everything but if any mistakes remain they are mine and not hers. As Stephen King would say (paraphrased), for what's right, thank her, for what's wrong, blame me. She unstuck me from page two and got me to the end.

There’s only one light on in the bunkroom when Lister finally gets up there, the light over the double bed, and for a moment he thinks about turning right back around and spending another shift in the cockpit where he might at least be able to nap. He’s _tired_. He doesn’t want to play the game tonight; he wants to sleep.

But then Rimmer’s arms slide around his waist from behind, and Rimmer’s mouth is on the side of his neck, and he suddenly doesn’t feel quite so tired any more.

‘Miss me?’ Rimmer asks softly.

‘Nope. I could hear your Hammond organ music from down there. Didn’t wanna come anywhere near ya.’

‘Are you _trying_ to add another count of general insubordination to the list?’ Rimmer clicks his tongue. ‘You know I’m keeping track.’ His fingers find the hem of Lister’s t-shirt and start easing up under it.

‘I’d noticed.’ Lister reaches out and hits the button to close and lock the door, and then covers Rimmer’s hands with his. ‘We do share a wardrobe, y’know.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t say we share a closet.’

‘If you think the other two don’t know what we’re doin’ up here, you’ve got another think comin’.’

‘As long as _you_ know what we’re doing up here.’ Rimmer’s hands slide out from underneath his, yanking his t-shirt up and off in one swift movement, and his mouth finds the side of Lister’s neck again, kissing so hard it’s almost a bite; his chest is bare against Lister’s back. Lister can’t manage to find the breath to make a witty retort but then again he can’t find the words for it either. ‘You _do_ know, don’t you?’

Lister finally catches his breath, manages the words that are by now almost ritual: ‘Yes, sir.’

Rimmer lets him go, turns him around, and kisses him. ‘Shoes and socks, Lister. Go.’

Lister sits down on the edge of the bunk and yanks at his bootlaces, wishing he hadn’t double-knotted them. His task is made more difficult because he keeps glancing up at Rimmer, who is leaning against the wall by the door, just watching him. He’s only wearing his black uniform trousers; it’s taken time for Lister to convince him that that looks good to him.

Finally the knots come loose and he can drag the boots off one by one, followed by the socks. He dumps them by the bunk, hears the pointed little sigh from across the room, and gets up to put his boots neatly side by side near their wardrobe and drop the socks in the laundry basket.

‘Will you _ever_ learn?’

Lister crosses the room back to his lover, hooks his arms around Rimmer’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss, whispering, ‘No,’ against his lips.

Rimmer lets him get away with it for a longer moment than he’d expected before reaching up and firmly unwinding his arms. ‘Trousers, Lister.’

‘They’re just jeans, no need to be so formal.’

‘You really _do_ have another count of insubordination coming.’

Lister’s hands go to the buckle of his belt and he sheds his jeans slowly, pulling the belt free of its loops and folding the jeans neatly to go back on their shelf in the wardrobe; they’re good for another wear, and given that he doesn’t get another exasperated little sigh directed at him he knows they measure up to Rimmer’s standards as well.

When he turns back around Rimmer’s down to just his boxer shorts, still leaning against the wall, the pattern of light and shadow across his body managing to highlight the most appealing areas of his body: his finely muscled upper arms, the line where the white fabric of his boxers pulls taut against his hip, his tongue as it darts out across his lower lip.

Well. _Some of_ the most appealing areas of his body.

‘Some people are show-offs when it comes to instant stripping,’ he remarks to the air.

Rimmer just looks at him, giving him his best stern look, and the only thing that almost breaks the illusion is the way Rimmer’s hands are shaking a little. He pushes off the wall and sits on the edge of their double bed. By the time Kryten comes in tomorrow morning to rouse them for their next turn in the cockpit they’ll be back to bunks, but right now they need more room to play properly.

‘Come here.’

Lister walks over to stand beside Rimmer, who reaches up and grabs his arse without finesse and administers a hard pinch.

‘Across my lap. Face down.’ Lister can hear the struggle for control behind those sharply bitten-off words and knows that this is the point where he can stop if he so chooses and they’ll settle for mutual masturbation and kissing.

But instead he complies, lies where he’s told, folding his arms to pillow his head and trying to look back over his shoulder at Rimmer. Rimmer loops one arm over his waist, holding him in place, and it feels a little bit silly and a little bit sexy and the rest is just waiting to see what comes next.

‘Ten for general insubordination,’ Rimmer says, and Lister’s about to ask _ten what_ – although he thinks he knows – when the first hard slap lands on his arse. He yelps out of surprise more than pain and almost pulls away.

‘That one didn’t count.’

‘Why not?’

‘Practice.’

‘It still hurt.’

There’s a pause, and then Rimmer says in a low, dangerous voice, ‘Good.’

Lister considers getting up, but he can feel how hard Rimmer is; he’s pressing against Lister’s lower stomach and really, how much can a few bare-handed spanks hurt? It’s not like they’re using whips and chains.

Rimmer runs a hand over his skin, a fingertip tracing the surely imaginary outline of his handprint, and says, ‘Count them for me.’

Lister counts the strokes out. His voice cracks on ‘five’ and Rimmer stops the rhythm he’s set and waits for Lister to nod his head before going on.

By the time he reaches ten Lister has discovered that yes, a few bare-handed spanks can indeed hurt. But it’s not entirely a _bad_ hurt, more like a strange heat, and it certainly hasn’t diminished his interest in the game. Although if Rimmer intends to punish him like this for every misdemeanour it’s going to get old fast.

He snakes a hand under himself and into Rimmer’s lap and Rimmer rubs against it before stilling himself and yanking Lister’s hand away, pulling it behind his back and sending him a little off balance.

‘That’s not what I want from you.’

‘What _do_ you want, then?’ Lister grabs at the bedsheets to keep from sliding to the floor.

Rimmer tightens his grip on Lister’s waist and leans down to speak close to his ear. ‘I want to – to have you. And I don’t want you to come until I say you can.’

_This_ is new – well, not the sex, but the last part. Lister’s not entirely sure that he _can_ keep from coming; his body pretty much does what it likes in that regard, and he’s never been discouraged before.

But he looks up, awkward-backwards-sideways into Rimmer’s face, and sees the intensity there, and nods. ‘Yes, sir.’ A hard pulse beneath him signals Rimmer’s appreciation of the title.

They rearrange themselves as comfortably as possible. Rimmer collects the lube from their stash; so far as they know Kryten hasn’t found it yet, if only because Rimmer’s now yelled at him enough times that he doesn’t look in the drawer where Rimmer keeps his mechanical pencils and other study accoutrements. Lister stretches out on his side, palming his cock and trying to think of ways to stave off orgasm. He’s quite certain that he won’t be able to implement them in the heat of the moment, but at least he can say he tried.

‘Get your hand off yourself. I didn’t say you could do that.’

‘Bossy,’ Lister says, rolling onto his stomach as Rimmer settles onto the thin mattress beside him.

Rimmer’s hand lands on his arse in what’s more a caress than a slap. ‘You like it. You like me ordering you around.’

‘Yeah,’ Lister agrees, and the thing is, he _does_. Oh, not during the course of an ordinary day, but now and here? Oh, yes. There’s something about relinquishing control and not having to think, just having to do what he’s told, that he likes because it’s easy to slip into that state of mind. Not to mention that Rimmer’s a different person when he’s in control, and they’ve both been enjoying letting him explore that side of his personality. Whatever switch gets flipped when it’s just the two of them and no barriers between them, sycophantic boot-licking Rimmer gets replaced with someone altogether more dangerous, and Lister has always been a fan of danger. And of pleasing his partner.

Rimmer opens him up with rougher touches than usual, slick fingers twisting inside him, and Lister has to cling to the blanket and think very hard about squeezy mops to not come. He dimly remembers hating Rimmer, once upon a time. Maybe if they’d done this sooner, they wouldn’t have wasted so much time bickering. A snicker escapes him at the thought.

‘What?’ Rimmer’s paused with two fingers buried deep inside Lister and it’s really distracting. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘I. Was thinking. About how. We used to fight.’

‘Hmmm.’ Rimmer twists and presses and light flashes behind Lister’s closed eyelids. ‘Was that preferable to this?’

‘Smeg, no. Can you... I want...’

Rimmer stops moving his hand again. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘Come on...’

‘ _Tell_ me.’

Lister can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. This is it. He’s going to push Rimmer’s hand away, get up, and have a nice quiet wank in the shower before going and sleeping in the medi-bay. He’s not cut out for this much begging just to get off.

‘I want you.’ The words tumble out of his mouth, helpless and pleading. ‘Please. In me.’

Rimmer’s fingers twist out and away and Lister arches his back a little, begging for the resumption of contact, but it’s only for a moment and then Rimmer is covering Lister’s body with his own, blunt heat nudging at Lister’s entrance, and Lister’s closed eyes squeeze tighter closed as Rimmer pushes into him. his own cock is trapped between his body and the mattress and feels like a long hot stone against his lower belly.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so needy before,’ Rimmer whispers against his ear. ‘Do you really want me so much?’ Even now he sounds uncertain and Lister struggles to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and find the words to reassure him. In the end he just makes an impatient noise and lifts his hips and spreads his legs wider and offers himself up.

And Rimmer takes, and takes, and takes. Driving into him, slow and slow and long and long, steady strokes that are completely at odds with how rapidly he’s breathing. Words come out occasionally but they’re not at all grammatical English and Lister’s not sure they’d make sense even if they were.

Every little movement and adjustment to his position that Rimmer makes, he can feel. He can feel the shape of Rimmer’s hand on his skin and realises that maybe now there actually is a handprint there. Rimmer’s breathing is warm against his neck and he can’t keep from moaning softly at the feeling of being both filled and surrounded; the other man’s body is pressed so closely against his that he feels he would be unable to breathe if Rimmer weren’t made of light.

He can feel his climax building, coiling heat in his groin that nothing will dissuade. He tries thinking of anything but sex and realises he can’t even remember why he’s supposed to be holding back. He whimpers, draws in air, tries for words.

‘I—’

‘Don’t you _dare_ ,’ Rimmer growls, lips brushing the back of Lister’s neck, and Lister bites his lip and manages to hold out a full twenty seconds longer before Rimmer’s relentless movement become too much. He voices an inarticulate cry and comes in a rush of heat that overwhelms his senses and leaves him shaking.

And Rimmer doesn’t stop moving through it all, sending sparks dancing along already sizzling nerves.

‘You really can’t follow orders, can you?’ How he’s managing coherent speech now Lister has _no_ idea.

‘No, sir,’ he mumbles.

Rimmer shifts his balance to one hand, snaking the other down to grasp Lister’s hip, holding him steady. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘No, _sir_ ,’ Lister repeats, louder, and Rimmer lets out his own moan. Lister can feel his whole body shuddering as though he’s been struck by lightning; his hips snap down hard and it’s almost too much, too deep, but then he’s backing off and scattering kisses over the back of Lister’s neck and shoulders.

When he pulls out Lister rolls onto his side and crosses his arms across his chest, looking up at Rimmer, who looks down at him and then moves to lie down facing him, draping one arm over his waist.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

‘Gettin’ there. I... my head’s still spinnin’.’

Rimmer looks genuinely concerned. ‘In a bad way?’

‘Good way.’ Lister can’t keep his eyelids open. He blinks a few times and lets out an annoyed huff. ‘Are _you_ all right?’

‘That was different,’ Rimmer admits. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to be all right with... all of it.’

‘It – I was. I wasn’t _expectin’_ it all, but it was – not bad.’

‘Even the...’ Rimmer doesn’t finish the sentence, but just brings his palm down softly against Lister’s backside.

‘Even that,’ Lister agrees.

The two of them lie there in silence, their breathing smoothing out and equalising until they inhale and exhale in unison. For someone who doesn’t need to breathe at all, Rimmer’s breathing says a lot about how he’s feeling. He doesn’t ask again if Lister’s all right and Lister is simultaneously pleased that he doesn’t have to explain and disappointed that Rimmer’s apparently not so concerned after all. There’s a place Lister goes in his mind during these encounters and it’s not always was easy to come back from as it is to get there.

At last they separate and Lister tosses the stained blanket into the laundry basket. That at least is readily explicable; Kryten has never commented on what Lister does in the privacy of his own bunk, except for remarking once or twice about the frequency of changes of bedclothing and the consequent need for them to obtain more bleach on the next salvage run.

It’s not like he needs to know that sometimes, it’s not Lister’s bedclothes, but _theirs_.

Rimmer returns the bunks to their usual layout while Lister showers, a quick rinse off so that he doesn’t completely smell of sex. When Lister comes out he’s making a note in his diary on one of the pages of tally marks.

‘Are you really gonna make me pay like that for every count of insubordination?’

‘Maybe. Maybe you’ll find other ways to earn your way back into my good books.’ Rimmer’s eyes are dancing with glee. Lister rolls his own eyes and bends down to kiss his lover goodnight.

‘Sleep well.’

‘You too.’

Lister climbs to the top bunk and lies on his stomach, looking out into the shadows cast by the solitary light over Rimmer’s bunk. Seconds later it snaps off and he’s looking into darkness.

He doesn’t notice when the darkness changes into sleep; nor does he realise that he’s fallen asleep with his right arm hanging out of the bed, as if reaching out to Rimmer.


End file.
